


Checking on a Mini Cat is an Essential Part of Life

by hey_its_lyn



Series: Being Called "Catboy" Qualifies as Cruel and Unusual Punishment [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Curious Bruce Wayne, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Protective Alfred Pennyworth, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Selina Kyle, Protective everyone basically, Sickfic, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_its_lyn/pseuds/hey_its_lyn
Summary: Look. Tim knows that his fever is dangerously high. He knows that ibuprofen really isn't enough to cut it anymore. He knows that he probably shouldn't be alone right now.Tim knows these things. He does. That doesn't mean he likes them. That doesn't necessarily mean calling Wayne Manor is the best option.So his choices are to suffer in silence as his body burns him up from the inside out or to suck it up and call Wayne Manor to ask for help. Honestly, it seems like a lose-lose scenario either way.(Or, an AU of Enhanced Fashion Sense is a Perk of Being a Cat)
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, implied Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: Being Called "Catboy" Qualifies as Cruel and Unusual Punishment [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713424
Comments: 27
Kudos: 820





	Checking on a Mini Cat is an Essential Part of Life

**Author's Note:**

> An AU of chapter two of Enhanced Fashion Sense is a Perk of Being a Cat. Tim calls Wayne Manor instead of Selina finding him after he passes out.
> 
> Also, titles suck. Just Saying. I spent more time trying to figure out a title than writing the damn story.

Alfred has just finished the evening’s dinner dishes when the phone rings. He pats his hands dry before hanging the towel over the handle of the oven and making his way across the kitchen to where the old phone mounted on the wall.

“Wayne Manor,” he answers. “How may I help you?”

_“Hi, uh, I’m really sorry to be calling but…”_

The voice is cut off by a vicious cough. Alfred nearly winces in sympathy. Whoever it is, they sound young.

“May I ask who is calling?”

_“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry…”_ Another cough. _“It’s Tim Drake, from, uh, from next door.”_

Alfred feels the space between his eyebrows pinch in confusion and concern. “How may I help you, Mr. Drake?”

_“I really don’t feel good, and Mrs. Mac is out of town. I was doing fine, but my fever—”_

Harsh, hacking coughs sound across the speakers once again. Alfred doesn’t like how this is going, and the subtle tensing of his shoulders proves as much.

“May I ask where your parents are, young sir?”

There is a beat of silence.

_“I—I’m really sorry to bother you, sir. I’ll be okay, so please… don’t worry about it? Sorry again, sir. Goodbye.”_

Alfred opens his mouth to reply that, no, the young sir has not in fact bothered him, but there is a single click as the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from his cheek, Alfred frowns. He stares at the phone for a moment longer than necessary before returning it to its rightful place and glancing at the clock.

6:37.

Smoothing his hands down the front of his apron, Alfred makes a decision.

He finishes tidying up the kitchen, trades his apron for his thick winter coat, and grabs the keys to the town car. Even nearing the end of March, the Gotham air is bitter with cold. The city is no longer coated in snow, but the rural estates still have patches of white and grass that is covered in frost and ice. Alfred slips his gloves onto his hands and makes his ways towards the garage with a haste that usually means something terrible has happened.

Drake Manor is next door, but in the wealthy neighborhood where Wayne Manor sits, ‘next door’ means nearly two miles away. Still, the drive is relatively short and Alfred finds himself pulling up the Drake’s long, curving driveway moments later. He leaves the car running as he hurries up the front steps to knock on the front door.

There’s no reply. Alfred knocks again and waits for exactly two and a half minutes before kneeling down and pulling one of Miss Barbara’s bobby pins from his pocket. Seconds later, the lock clicks, and Alfred pushes inside.

Drake Manor is dark, the air cold and stale. Wayne Manor, even with all of its opulence, still feels as though it is lived in. There is a certain warmth to Wayne Manor, something that shows there is a family that lives there.

This place is empty.

There is artwork lining the walls, expensive furniture that looks as though it has never been used, grand architecture that radiates wealth.

But there are no family pictures, no coats in the hall or shoes in the cubby. No, Drake Manor feels as though it is a mausoleum that has been frozen in time, forgotten by everyone and left alone until it is once again needed.

Alfred wonders how a young boy could be here all alone. He certainly hopes that he understood the boy wrong.

His steps are soft as he walks past the foyer and the grand staircase, but Alfred freezes when he reaches the living room. It takes him half a second to rush forward. His mobile phone, a gift from Master Dick, is already in his hand by the time he reaches the unconscious boy on the floor.

Tim Drake is a small, frail-looking boy with skin so white that it could be made of porcelain. He is crumpled on the floor in between the coffee table and sofa, hair falling across his forehead, though Alfred can still see the color on his cheeks and the sweat that has gathered along his brow. His breathing is obviously labored, and Alfred’s concern only grows when he realizes that the boy’s hair is stuck to his forehead with blood.

He places the back of his hand on Tim’s forehead. His skin is hot to the touch, even though Tim is shivering beneath him. Alfred ignores the blood on his knuckles as he dials Jason’s number. He isn’t supposed to leave to patrol for another few hours, and Alfred would appreciate his help at the moment. Besides, the boy has a soft heart when it comes to children. Alfred’s fingers find themselves pressed against Tim’s pulse as Jason answers his call.

_“Hey, Alf, what’s going on?”_

“Master Jason, I’m afraid I have a favor to ask of you.”

_“Course. Whaddya need?”_

Tim’s pulse is fast beneath his fingers. “I’m afraid our young neighbor has fallen ill and is currently alone. I do not feel comfortable leaving him here by himself, as his fever is quite high and he is currently not responsive.”

_“Ah, crap. Where are ya, Alf? I’ll come help ya get ‘im.”_

“I’m at the manor to our left. The Drake Estate.”

Alfred smooths a hand through Tim’s hair, ignoring the grease and sweat that has built up. He frowns when he finds the source of blood. There’s a fresh cut across the boy’s forehead, more of a scrape, really, and the red puffiness of the skin is a mere glimpse of the ugly bruise that will appear overnight.

_“I’m on my way, Alf. Give me ‘bout ten minutes, an’ I’ll be there.”_

“Thank you, Master Jason,” Alfred says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Jason hums before hanging up. Alfred stows his phone inside his coat pocket before turning his attention back to the boy below him. He gently pushes the hair away from Tim’s cut, careful to keep the semi-congealed blood from tugging against the tender skin.

Alfred pushes himself to his feet and pointedly ignores the twinges of pain in his knees and hips. He easily finds the kitchen, and it only takes him two tries to find the drawer containing the washcloths. Alfred picks the softest one he can find and wets it with cool water from the sink. It’s still a kitchen rag, so it’s not nearly as soft as Alfred would prefer, but it will work for the time being.

Wringing out the excess water, Alfred returns to Tim’s side. The boy has shifted from his belly to his side, partially propped up against the sofa. His eyelids are fluttering, and Alfred kneels down slowly. Tim murmurs but doesn’t open his eyes. Alfred uses the cloth to clean off the blood on Tim’s forehead, frowning when he realizes that the blood has seeped down the side of his face and is smeared across his cheek.

Once the blood is gone, Alfred folds the washcloth and sets it on the coffee table. He refuses to leave a bloody rag across Tim’s forehead.

Just as he’s about to return to the kitchen for a new cloth, a knock echoes through the manor.

“Alfie?”

“This way, Master Jason,” Alfred calls out.

Seconds later, Jason appears under the archway that leads into the living room. Alfred frowns upon seeing that Jason is only in his thick sweatshirt and sneakers. His cheeks are pink, his lips parted as he pants in an attempt to regain his breath, and his hair is a mess from the wind.

Alfred decides now is not the time to scold him for not wearing a coat or even a set of gloves.

Jason practically jogs over, chest still heaving. “So, what exactly is goin’ on…”

He trails off when he catches sight of the unconscious Tim. Alfred is surprised by the recognition that flashes across Jason’s features when he sees the boy, but he doesn’t show it.

“Do you know Tim, Master Jason?”

Jason’s eyes stay locked on the boy until he shakes himself back into focus. He kneels down next to Alfred, saying, “Yeah, Alfie, I know ‘im. He was the one I was tellin’ ya about, the one from that art gala a few weeks ago.”

Alfred nods in understanding. “I see.”

Jason doesn’t reply as he lays a hand across Tim’s forehead. He scowls as soon as his cold knuckles brush against Tim’s skin, and he pulls back quickly when Tim jerks beneath him, his eyes fluttering open.

“Hey there, Tim,” Jason says softly. “Ya with us right now?”

Tim blinks sluggishly. He tries to push himself up but gives up on his own before either Alfred or Jason can tell him to remain still. He sags against the sofa with a tired frown, the space between his brows furrowed.

“Jason?”

“Yeah, it’s me, bud.” Jason forces himself not to reach out, knowing that his cold hands will be too much of a shock against Tim’s heated skin. He does, however, wince at the wrecked sound of Tim’s voice. “What’s goin’ on here, huh?”

Tim breath shudders within his thin chest. His eyes are unfocused, and he can’t seem to look at either Jason or Alfred directly. A vicious cough tears through his chest. Tim curls forward from the force of it, turning further into himself and looking as though he’s trying to melt into the sofa. The coughing lasts for several moments, and by the time it’s slowed, Tim’s eyes are closed and he’s wheezing.

Jason looks to Alfred. “We’re takin’ ‘im back home, right Alfie?”

“That was my plan,” Alfred says. “I believe the car is still running in the drive. If you would not mind.” He nods toward Tim’s small form.

“Yeah, I got ‘im, Alfie.”

Jason carefully moves forward until he’s wedged between the sofa and coffee table beside Tim. Very gently, he slides his arms around the small boy. He slowly makes his way to his feet, Tim cradled against his chest, his head tucked into the crook of Jason’s neck.

Jason follows Alfred out of Drake Manor. He doesn’t look back once, instead kicking the door shut behind him and not bothering to lock it.

Alfred is holding open the door to the back seat, and Jason thanks him before crawling into the car with Tim still in his arms. The warmth washes over him as Alfred slides into the driver’s seat with an ease Jason never thought possible before he met the man. Alfred leads the car away from Drake Manor, and Jason glances down at Tim.

Jason is still hugging him to his chest, and Tim is practically sitting in his lap. Jason feels his brows pinch as he purses his lips. Tim is ten if he remembers correctly. A ten-year-old boy should weigh much more than Tim does, and it doesn’t make sense because Jason was bigger at eight than Tim is at ten, and he was surviving off of the free lunch provided by his crap school in the Bowery.

Tim has a family.

Jason unconsciously holds him closer. He thinks back to the gala, to Tim’s mannerisms and some of the small things he says. How when Jason first comes over, Tim’s first instinct is that it is his mother is coming to scold him for hiding from the high society vultures.

The town car is pulling into the manor’s attached garage before Jason can think about it more. The car goes silent, and Alfred holds open the door once again, allowing Jason to slide out with Tim clutched tightly in his arms.

“Go ahead and bring him to one of the guest rooms with an en suite,” Alfred tells him. “I’m going to get some things to set up in his room, and I want you to draw him a bath. Lukewarm water only, Master Jason. We don’t want to shock his system.”

For once, Jason doesn’t say anything. He simply follows Alfred into the manor and immediately makes his way towards the stairs. He doesn’t exactly disobey Alfred, but he puts Tim in the empty bedroom next to his own instead of in the guest hall. Jason’s pretty sure that Alfred knew that’s what he would do to begin with.

Jason is careful to be quiet, gently laying Tim on top of the king-sized bed’s plush comforter. He lingers a moment longer than strictly necessary before he makes his way to the connected bathroom.

The tile is hard and cold against his knees, even through his jeans, as he reaches for the shower handle. Jason tests the warmth of the water with his hand. He knows the temperature that will be best for Tim’s fever from an unfortunate familiarity with the process from the years helping his mother and the other children in Crime Alley.

Flu season is already terrible in Gotham, but in Crime Alley where no one can afford doctors or antibiotics and no one really trusts the free clinics, flu season is practically a grim reaper.

Jason plugs the tub and leaves the water to collect. He shakes his hands and returns to the bedroom, leaving the bath running and the door open. A gentle light spills across the bed. It makes the pallor of Tim’s skin look nearly ashen, and Jason feels an uncomfortable churn in his gut.

He remembers that Tim is tiny, smaller than a kid like him should be. It’s weird to hear him talk about computer coding and photography when he’s so small, but it’s worse now for Jason to see him like this. Small and fragile, like a gust of wind would be enough to make him shatter, even if his cheekbones look sharp enough to cut.

Jason hates it.

He lays a damp hand on Tim’s forehead and winces at the searing heat of the boy’s skin. Tim murmurs and shifts beneath him, but does not wake. Jason turns as he hears footsteps behind him. They’re too heavy to be Alfred’s.

“Bruce?”

“Who is this?”

Bruce stands like a shadow in the doorway, even in a worn blue sweater with his hands in his pockets. His expression is calm, but Jason has been around round enough to see the worry written in the slight tightness of his shoulders.

Jason straightens and hesitates before stepping to the side. “Tim,” he says. Bruce enters the room, standing to the side to peer at the boy from over Jason’s shoulder. “He lives next door.”

He can feel Bruce’s steady gaze. “Timothy Drake?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Both Jason and Bruce startle at Alfred’s voice. The man moves swiftly into the room, a bundle of pajamas and towels held in his arms. Jason and Bruce don’t need to be told to move, instead scrambling to the side to give Alfred easy access to Tim. Alfred pulls a thermometer from his sleeve and slips it across Tim’s forehead. The menacing beep echoes through the room.

Alfred frowns. Jason’s stomach sinks.

“103.2°,” Alfred announces.

“Shit,” Jason hisses.

“Language,” Bruce admonishes.

Jason ignores him. “The hell was he doin’ all alone with a fever like that?”

“I am sure we will find out soon enough, Master Jason,” Alfred says. “Now, let’s get him into the bath and see if we can cool him down some.”

Jason nods and swallows thickly, moving forward, cutting Bruce off and scooping Tim into his arms. He dutifully follows Alfred into the bathroom, wincing when he realized that he forgot to turn off the faucet. The tub is full, though Alfred has managed to turn the water off before it overflows.

Jason carefully sits Tim on the closed toilet seat, keeping his hands on the boy’s shoulders to keep him steady. Alfred makes quick work of stripping Tim’s sweat-soaked shirt off of him, dumping it on the floor before moving onto his pajama pants. The sweats meet the shirt on the floor, and Tim is left shivering in his boxers. Jason winces at what he sees.

Tim’s skin is clammy, sweat clinging to every piece of exposed skin. His hair is messy and damp, sticking to his forehead in thick clumps, while his chest heaves with every wheezing breath he takes. Worst of all, Jason can see the outline of Tim’s ribs, his stomach smooth and flat, but not in a way that shows underlying muscle definition and strength, but in a way that shows a history of not having enough food to build up any fat or muscle.

Jason clenches his jaw as he shifts and lowers Tim into the bath.

The water sloshes at the sides of the tub, and Tim lets out a noise of protest when the lukewarm water meets his skin. He tries to jerk out of Jason’s hold, sending water splashing onto the bathroom floor. Tim’s eyes flicker open, half-lidded and unfocused as he whimpers.

Jason ignores the painful pull deep in his chest. “Hey, Tim, you’re okay, bud, you’re okay.”

He hushes the boy, lowering his voice and trying to sound safe and soothing. It’s been a long time, but he used to do this for all of the sick kids in Crime Alley, both when he was living in his rundown apartment with his mom and babysitting the working girl’s kids and when he was on the streets, looking out for all of those younger and smaller than him.

“It’s me, Tim, it’s Jason.” Tim’s gaze finally locks with his, and Jason ignores the uncomfortable, sinking twinge in his belly at the blown pupils and blatant confusion and fear that mars Tim’s features. “It’s just Jason, bud, remember me? From the gala? You snuck me those caramels? Great choice, by the way. Those were my favorites when I was a kid.”

He knows that Bruce is lingering in the doorway, that Alfred is bustling around, laying out clean pajamas and antibiotics and crackers. He knows that the knees of his jeans are soaked, that the sleeves of his sweatshirt are well on their way to the same fate. But Jason doesn’t care. He focuses on Tim, uttering soothing words and running his hands up and down the boy’s arms.

Tim is still shivering but it’s slowed, and his heart rate seems to have lowered enough that he’s breathing a tiny bit easier. He’s blinking sluggishly, slumping into Jason’s hold.

“Jay?”

Jason offers him a shaky smile. “Yeah, bud, it’s me. There you are.”

Tim tries to rub at his eyes but frowns and pauses when his hand comes out of the water dripping wet. He stares at the appendage and the drips that make contact with the rippling bathwater below with tiny little _plips!_

“Wha?” Tim winces and clears his throat. “What’s going on?”

“You’re really sick, baby bird,” Jason says, not able to stop himself from comparing Tim’s small size to the delicate nature and bone structure of a bird. Ironic, of course, considering his nightlife, but Jason supposes that just adds to the charm. “Alfie an’ I came ta picked ya up an’ brought ya back ta the Manor.”

Tim just blinks at him. He looks down at his hand, brow furrowing when he realizes that he’s not wearing clothes. He glances up at Jason through sweat-soaked bangs.

“Wha? Baby… bird…?” He shakes his head, then winces, suddenly staring down at his chest and legs. “Why am I in my boxers?”

Jason shakes his head and bites back a laugh. “We’re trying to get your temperature down with a bath. The water will hopefully help cool you off.”

“Oh.” Tim falls silent. “You came to check on me?”

“Course we did,” Jason says. “Alfie and I were worried about ya.”

“Oh,” Tim says again. Then, more timidly, “Why?”

Jason has to stop his hands from tightening into fists, remembering that he’s currently holding onto Tim, and his blunt nails can cut into the boy’s skin. He takes a long, deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He gently rubs his hand along Tim’s shoulders.

“Because you needed the help,” Jason says. “I don’t know how Alfie knew to come check on ya, but it’s a good thing he did, otherwise you might be passed out on the floor at home. It’s not safe.” Jason frowns, watching Tim’s face to check for any change in his features. “Why were ya all alone? Where are your parents?”

Tim presses his lips together and stares determinedly at his knees as he draws them to his chest. He says nothing. Jason is unsure whether to try and pry or let things lie until Tim is feeling better. His choice is made for him when he feels Bruce's heavy hand on his shoulder. He glances up at the man in surprise, and Bruce motions for Jason to follow him.

Jason hesitantly stands, gaze flickering to where Tim remains curled in a ball, slumping into himself as his eyes slip closed. He follows Bruce out of the bathroom, standing just far enough away that Tim won’t be able to hear them, but they can still watch him to make sure that he doesn’t slip beneath the water.

Bruce looks at him, and Jason can see the tired lines that are carved into the skin of his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. “The Drakes are currently out of the country on an archeological dig,” he says softly.

Jason feels a burning rage curl in his gut. His hands curl into fists and he scowls. _“What?!”_

Bruce squeezes his shoulder, both a warning and a gesture meant to ground him. “They left shortly after the gala at the art museum. They mentioned it when I spoke with them before they left.”

“That was weeks ago,” Jason hisses.

“I’m aware,” Bruce says, “and I’ll be looking into why Timothy was left alone at Drake Manor once he’s in bed.”

Some of the tension leaves Jason’s shoulders, but his fists are still shaking. He forces himself to take a sharp breath through his nose, nails cutting into his palms, even as he tries to calm the furious thud of his heart.

/\/\/\

They get Tim out of the bath ten minutes later, once the water has cooled and Tim has begun shivering. Alfred shoos Jason and Bruce out of the bathroom to pat the boy dry and slip him into a pair of Jason’s pajamas. Jason can only watch as Bruce carefully moves Tim, tucking him into bed, plaid sweatpants several inches too long tangling in the sheets.

Jason stands firm when he says that he’ll stay and keep watch over Tim. Bruce doesn’t fight him, instead merely nodding and saying that he’ll be in the Cave. Alfred gives Jason’s shoulder a firm squeeze and tells him to come find him if he needs anything.

So Jason is left alone, slumped in a terribly uncomfortable, decorative armchair, legs curled beneath him as he keeps watch over the slumbering boy who’s raised more questions over the past hour than Jason finds himself okay with.

At some point, he drifts off, and when he next opens his eyes, it’s to the quiet murmur of angry voices.

Jason blinks, silently rising to his feet and creeping across the carpeted floor. He strains to hear the voices, only able to make out hints of sentences, hissed words scattered by the walls. He glances at Tim. The anxiety settles slightly as he sees the boy still slumbering, even as he twitches and turns in his sleep, a flush still high on his cheeks.

Once at the door, Jason holds his breath and listens.

“… can’t just… wait… What are you even…”

Jason recognizes Bruce’s low whispers and his eyes narrow as he presses closer against the door.

“Not that… your concern… vested interest…”

It’s a woman’s voice, low and smooth, even with an undercut of anger and concern. It sounds familiar, and Jason is frustrated to find that he can’t place it. He doesn’t know of any woman that Bruce would let into the Manor at night without any prior warning, let alone when Tim is laying defenseless and sick in their guest room while they have a growing list of alarming questions about his home life.

“…lina, wait!”

Jason barely has time to react before the door to the room is swinging open. He stumbles backward, easily catching himself on his heels before rolling back onto the balls of his feet. He snarls, ready to lunge should he need to, when he is met with a desperate-looking Selina freaking Kyle.

Jason’s jaw drops.

He stares at her. She rushes past him until she’s kneeling by Tim’s bedside, running her fingers through his sweaty hair and murmuring comfortingly into his ear. He looks at Bruce. Bruce hurries across the room with barely a grunt of acknowledgment.

“Selina,” he hisses, “let the boy—”

“Hush,” Selina says with a vicious glare. She looks at them over her shoulder, her eyes skipping from Bruce to Jason then back to Bruce. “I’ll explain later.”

Jason gapes. Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Selina, I think it’d be best if you explained now.”

“And I think it’d be best if you’d let me check over my kid.”

Jason’s eyes go wide.

“Selina,” Bruce tries again.

Jason doesn’t let him finish. “Your kid?!” he whisper-screeches at Selina. He whirls to face Bruce. “What the hell is goin’ on here?!”

Selina glares at him. Bruce leans his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose. Alfred appears in the doorway with a stern frown.

“Well,” he says, startling all three of them, “I guess I best go put on a pot of coffee then. And get out of Master Timothy’s room, the lot of you.” He ignores Selina’s hiss. “We don’t want your conversation to wake the young master.” He raises a slim brow. “Surely we all know how loud this conversation is going to get?”

He stalks off before the rest of them can say a word.

Jason curiously watches as Selina presses a kiss to Tim’s hairline, smoothing the wild strands out of his eyes before elegantly making her way to her feet. She brushes past him and Bruce, head held high despite the tight tension in her shoulders. Jason glares at Bruce.

The man finally meets his gaze and slumps forward with a sigh. “I don’t know either, Jaylad,” he says. He walks forward, slinging a hesitant arm across Jason’s shoulders. “Let’s go find out together, yeah?”

Jason grumbles but follows along obediently. He casts one last look over his shoulder, finding Tim still fast asleep in his bed. Jason feels his stomach twist in concern once again. Even sick, he should have woken up with the commotion of four people in his room, even if they’re all whisper-arguing.

He follows Bruce down the hall and out of the guest wing, finding himself seated on one of the overstuffed sofas in Bruce’s office. Selina is seated across from them, perched on the edge of one of the large leather chairs, legs crossed and ankle dangling in a show of faux relaxation.

Jason glances between the two adults. They seem to be having a silent conversation with their eyes and body language—or just a really weird, tense, silent standoff—and Jason feels more than out of place.

Thankfully, Alfred shows up moments later with a tray on his arm. Bruce and Selina got coffee and Jason gets hot cocoa. He doesn’t bother protesting. Besides, it’s not like he’d ever turn down Alfred’s famous hot chocolate.

Even once all three of them have mugs in their hands, there are another few moments of painful silence before Jason gives in and shatters it.

“What was that back there?” he asks, staring Selina down as the warmth from the cocoa seeps into his shaking hands.

Selina glances down at him as though she’s being indulgent by even acknowledging his existence. A few seconds pass but Selina sighs and slumps backward before the painful silence can return.

“I have a vested interest in watching out for Tim,” she admits, sneaking a glance at Bruce.

Jason catches it and freezes. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Crazy smart.

“Ah, shit,” he says. “B, please tell me you an’ Catwoman don’t have a secret lovechild that was adopted and abused by our next-door neighbors.”

Bruce chokes on his coffee. Selina stares at him in stunned silence before she cracks up laughing. Jason watches with growing horror as she puts her mug down on the coffee table to keep from spilling it. Selina sobers rather quickly, but there is still an amused mirth in her eyes and the entire room feels lighter.

“I’m afraid not,” she says, biting back another laugh. “No, Tim and I have somewhat of an interesting relationship.”

“Oh?” Bruce prompts.

Jason feels somewhat better knowing that Tim is not the lovechild of the world’s greatest detective and the world’s greatest thief. Still not the best it could be, but he’ll take what he can get for the moment.

Selina levels them with a careful, calculating glare. Eventually, she says, “I met Tim after nabbing an artifact from his parents. I’m sure you can guess that all of their digs aren’t exactly sanctioned and that they don’t always deliver everything they find to the proper authorities.”

Bruce nods along. Jason’s brows furrow.

“I broke into Drake Manor last fall, and Tim caught me sneaking out. I didn’t even notice he was there until he called out to me.” Bruce suddenly looks much more interested. “All of my intel said that the estate would be empty until late winter, so imagine my surprise when tiny, little Tim sneaks up on me in his own house.”

Jason rests his mug in his lap. “You sayin’ that Tiny Tim was left home alone an’ that he caught you breakin’ and enterin’ because even your normally impeccable intel was wrong?”

Selina’s grin is practically predatory. “Yup.”

Jason leans back. “Huh. Well, that’s pretty shit.”

Selina snorts a laugh. Bruce glares half-heartedly at the both of them.

“And after that?” he asks. “You stayed in touch?”

Selina shrugs. “I decided to check up on him every once and awhile. Little kid all alone in a big, fancy house holding fancy artifacts while the entire world knows that his parents are never home? Yeah, the kid wouldn’t stand a chance if any other thieves decided to try their luck on the place.”

Jason sips on his cocoa and watches Bruce from the corner of his eye. It’s obvious that Bruce doesn’t believe her. He swirls the warm chocolate over his tongue before swallowing.

“So what, you an’ Tim bonded over his shitty home life?”

Selina rolls her eyes. “Not quite. I caught him sneaking around the city at night to take pictures.” She hesitates for a fraction of a second. Only someone trained and experienced speaking with the woman would catch it. “He has an interest in photography. I took him home and made him spill about his parents. Kept in touch after that.”

Bruce hums. Selina kicks his shin with her foot.

“Please,” she says. “I know you better than that, Bruce. Yes, he was the little boy I was watching at the gala. I know you saw him come up to me before I left to say goodbye.”

Jason’s eyes go wide. “That was the reason he ran off?”

Selina glances at him curiously. Jason shakes his head.

“We were talkin’ an’ avoidin’ all the crazy old hags when outta nowhere Tim says he’s gotta go say goodbye to someone an’ took off inta the crowd like a goddamn ninja.” He frowns, biting the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t see ‘im after that. His mom caught ‘im and Bruce an’ I left a little later.”

Selina shakes her own head, lips curled in a small smile of amusement. “That was me. He slipped me a bracelet that I wanted from that place on 7th that was bought up before I could get in.”

Bruce frowns at her. The BatFrowntm that he gives Robin whenever he does something stupid on patrol, not just the Disappointed Bruce Frowntm. Selina waves an unimpressed hand.

“No, I didn’t teach him that. He picked up on it himself.”

It’s probably a lie. Jason knows Bruce lets it slide simply because it’s Selina.

“And since then?”

Selina raises a brow. “In the three weeks since then? He showed up at my apartment after his parents got into it the night before they left for another dig. Told me everything he’s slipped out of telling me before.” She snorts in wry amusement. “Also figured out that he knows how to tail injured masks home when he’s worried about them.”

She doesn’t give Bruce or Jason a chance to comment before she’s moving on. “I just finished setting up my spare room for him, if he wants it. I was going to tell him when we met up for milkshakes, but he didn’t show. I went to his house and didn’t find him there.”

“And you knew he’d be here?” Jason asks disbelievingly.

Selina huffs at him. “I told him to go to the Wayne’s if he ever felt he needed help. Found his mom’s address book open by the landline. It wasn’t that hard to guess.”

“Why didn’t he just call you?” Bruce asks.

“Because I just had to burn my main phone and haven’t had a chance to give him the new number yet.”

The silence returns. Selina sips her coffee, watching as Jason and Bruce sort through all of the information she just dumped on them. Eventually, she sighs and picks herself up from the chair. She drops a kiss to the top of Bruce’s head and ruffles Jason’s hair, even as he tries to bat her away.

“Look,” she says, “I’m going to go check on Tim and keep an eye on him. We can talk about it more later.” Her eyes darken into a fierce glare. “I’m not going to let this continue. Not after this. Once he’s feeling better, I’m sitting him down and we’re having a serious talk about his parents.”

Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but Selina has already pushed away.

“I said we’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’m going to go see Tim. We can go over everything again in the morning.”

She’s out of the room seconds later, disappearing down the hall in the direction of Tim’s room. Bruce watches her go. Jason watches Bruce. He slumps down when he realizes that he’s not getting anything else until morning at the earliest.

“Well,” he says, mostly to himself, “that totally makes sense of everything.”

/\/\/\

Tim wakes up to gentle fingers carding through his hair. He feels absolutely disgusting, sticky with dry sweat and sore in a way that tells him he’s been tossing and turning while his muscles have been tensed. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, which tastes absolutely disgusting. It takes him several long moments to pry open his gritty eyes. He blinks away the fuzziness only to find someone leaning above him, squeezing his hand as the fingers move from his hair down to cup his cheek.

“Hey there, Kitten,” Selina says, smiling down at him.

She has dark circles under her eyes and her short hair is messy in a way he rarely sees. Tim frowns.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to push himself up. “Where am I?”

Selina moves forward, gently helping him sit and propping him up against the headboard, thick pillows tucked behind his back. She takes his hand.

“You’re in a guest room at Wayne Manor.”

The shriek of “What?!” makes his hoarse throat feel like it’s being shredded, but he ignores it in favor of staring at Selina in horror.

Selina shushes him, handing him a glass of water and urging him to drink slowly. He does as told, calming down as Selina smooths down his hair once again.

“You got really sick, Kitten. You called Wayne Manor, and when you panicked and hung up, Alfred came over to check on you. He found you unconscious on the floor and brought you back here to care for you. I came over as soon as you missed milkshake night.”

Tim stares at her for nearly a full minute. Selina just holds his hand.

“Sorry about milkshake night,” he says eventually.

Selina laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Kitten.”

Tim smiles at her before he freezes, expression turning into one of horror. “Oh my god,” he says. “I’m in Batman’s house. Batman saw me so sick that I passed out.” Tim tips his head backward and groans. “Don’t tell me him or Robin princess carried me out of my house.”

“I can assure you that was not the case, Master Timothy.”

Tim whirls around fast enough to make himself dizzy. He stares in terror when he sees Alfred Pennyworth nudging the door shut behind him and walking towards the bed like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“It was Master Jason who carried you out to the care and up to your room here,” he says, not phased at all when Tim simply gapes at him. Instead, he sets down a tray holding a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk. “You had us all quite worried there. Your fever was almost one hundred and five. I nearly took you to the hospital.”

Tim opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He searches for something, for anything to say, and all he can manage is one tiny, strangled,

“Shit.”

Selina swats at his leg. “Language,” she scolds.

Tim doesn’t seem to notice. He instead turns to stare at her with wide, scared eyes.

“Cat, I just told Batman’s pseudo-father-figure that I know who Batman is.”

Alfred nods once in confirmation. “It was more like you inferred it, young sir. You only confirmed that you knew right then.”

Tim just blinks. “Fuck.”

“Timothy!”

Tim flinches. “Sorry, Cat,” he mutters. He stares down at the sheets pooled around his waist, not daring to look at either of them until Alfred sets a dinner tray on the bed and drops the platter of food in front of him and forces him to.

“Not to worry, Master Timothy. I’m sure this can all be explained to Master Bruce somehow. You do know Catwoman well enough to steal her a bracelet, after all.”

Tim flushes up to his ears. Selina laughs and leans forward to ruffle his hair.

“I told them the basics of the story last night. They didn’t know they knew, but Bruce won’t be too upset. If anything, he’ll be annoyed that someone figured out his precious identity at nine.”

Tim’s skin darkens from pink to red. His ears absolutely burn. He glances at Alfred from the corner of his eye. “You didn’t tell them about… the thing, right?”

Selina just smiles and tucks his hair behind his ears. It’s grown out just enough to fall in front of his eyes instead of just across his forehead.

“They know you enjoy photography, but that’s all.”

Tim allows himself to relax at least a little bit. Under Alfred’s sudden gaze, he shrinks back and picks up a spoonful of oatmeal.

“There you go,” he says. “Eat that slowly now. You haven’t been sick yet, and we don’t want to change that any time soon. I’ll got tell Master Bruce that you’re awake.” He must see Tim’s flash of panic because he smiles and says, “Not to worry, young sir. I’ll make sure he knows not to push you too hard.”

Alfred’s gone a moment later, and Tim can only watch him go. He glances at Selina, who squeezes his hand once more.

“You’ll be fine,” she assures him.

Tim doesn’t know if he believes her, but he continues taking tiny bits of his oatmeal anyways. It has just the right amount of honey and brown sugar to be sweet but not overpowering. He’s almost a third of the way through the bowl when there’s another knock on his door. Panic flares in his chest, and it doesn’t die down even a bit when Jason Todd pokes his head in the room instead of Bruce Wayne.

“Hey, Tim,” Jason says with a wave before he turns to look at Selina. “B wants to talk ta ya alone. I think Alfie scolded him for wantin’ ta run up here the second he knew Tim was awake.”

Selina rolls her eyes but stands anyway. She kisses Tim’s forehead and promises to be back as soon as she can. The door clicks shut behind her, and Tim is left alone in the room with Jason. He doesn’t know what to do when the other boy drops down into the chair Selina just vacated.

“How you feelin’?”

Tim feels a little bit like a jerk when he doesn’t answer right away in favor of staring in surprise. He finally shakes himself out of it.

“Uh, better? Gross and still achy, but better?”

Jason nods in understanding. “Good. I hate getting sick. It sucks cause flu season lasts freakin’ forever in Gotham.”

Tim nods absentmindedly with no idea what he can possibly say. Jason doesn’t seem to mind. He also doesn’t seem to have any sense of patience whatsoever.

“So why were ya home all alone?”

Tim startles in surprise, shoulders hunching as he automatically looks away. He has no idea what Selina told them, so he supposes that a mild version of the truth is the best answer.

“My parents are away for work, and Mrs. Mac has the week off for her daughter’s wedding.”

Jason hums. Tim risks glancing at him and winces when Jason immediately catches his eye. Jason, though, merely smiles and reaches forward to ruffle his hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

For some reason, Tim believes him.


End file.
